


The Origin

by uglypastels



Category: MCU, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - Fandom, tom holland - Fandom
Genre: Gen, Origin Story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:42:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26561593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uglypastels/pseuds/uglypastels
Summary: My idea of the origin of the MCU spider-man, including the reader





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on Tumblr in 2 parts, so that's how I'll post it here too. They are quite long though.

“When do you think they will finally let us go home?” Peter heard the whispers behind him. He looked at his watch. It was around 2 o’clock. There was still two hours to go until the end of the trip. He had the urge to answer the question but knew it wasn’t directed toward him. **  
**

The girls behind him kept giggling, he wished they would shut up so he could hear the lab guide better.

“Hey, shut it.” Another voice spoke up from the crowd. Peter, was, for a moment, convinced it was his voice but no, it couldn’t be, it was too high, And it came from behind him. His eyes, which had been glued to the guide for most of the lecture, wandered off to the side where they landed on (Y/N). She was clad in her usual oversized sweater, fading into the crowd of bored teenagers. Her backpack casually hanging off one shoulder. The girls she had been talking to rolled their eyes and started laughing as they walked away to the side of the group. (Y/N) fidgeted with the sleeves of her sweater, pulling them down over her hands. She had been staring hard at the ground, but when she lifted her head, her gaze pierced right through Peter. It’s a weird sensation sensing someone watching you, Peter was sure that’s why she hadn’t looked him in the eyes. Not wanting to make her uncomfortable he mustered a half-smile before returning his gaze to the guide.

They had been sharing lessons ever since their enrollment at Midtown High. Except for the conventional ask for a pen, they had never really talked much. In freshman year they did a project together for biology class, but in the age of Google Drive and shared documents, they barely needed to talk.

Still, Peter couldn’t help but feel intrigued by the girl. She had this _something_ about her that made Peter want to get to know her. That _something_ had always been there, nagging at the back of his mind whenever he saw her but each time his nerves got the better of him. Peter mentally cursed himself for his anxiety

“Here at Oscorp Lab, we have spent many years trying to find out as much as we can about Vita Radiation,” the guide said, moving to the side where a big window of, what Peter assumed to be, thick bulletproof glass, separated them from a group of scientists in radiation suits.

“Our highest priority in this research has always been to try and recreate Erskine’s infamous Project Rebirth, of which you may have heard of in your history class-”

“-wasn’t that done in secret and illegally?” Michelle’s voice broke out from the back of the group. Their guide stared blankly at the group of teenagers before breaking out into an exasperated smile, disregarding Michelle’s accusation and continuing his story.. Peter snorted at the situation.

________________________________________

Half an hour later than planned, the group was finally standing on the steps leading to and away from the labs. Peter sat down on one of the higher steps, further away from the rest of the class. It would still be another minute or five before the bus would get there. He sighed, looking down at his fellow students… most of whom were on their phones. Joining them, Peter pulled his phone from his pocket and started scrolling mindlessly through his apps. There weren’t any notifications for him to check, so what else could he do?

A high pitched scream penetrated the silence, capturing his attention. A few laughs followed. Peter’s gaze shifted from the screen in front of him. People were laughing even harder now, as the yelps and little screams continued. He scrambled up to get a better look. (Y/N) was stood a few steps below, moving vigorously, her arms flapping wildly around her as if she was trying to shake something off… It looked like she needed help.

Peter rushed down the stairs to help her, arriving just in time to catch her. Her chaotic movements had caused her to lose her balance and teeter dangerously close to the edge of the step… He reached out pulling her back before any harm was done. Peter was a humble guy but he couldn’t help but expect some kind of thank you, even if it was only small. Instead, she whimpered, “gerroff! Gerroff!” He didn’t understand what she was saying until he noticed something in her hair. It was small, but the color contrasted deeply with her hair.

“Wait! Stand still,” he instructed. (Y/N) stopped moving. Her lip was quivering slightly, her hands shaking. Peter reached out to the strand of hair in which the small spider was hanging. He hated spiders, but that only made him understand (Y/N)’s reaction even more and he was determined to help her out.

Fighting back his own fears, he tried to keep his hand steady as possible. The creature scuttled up and down, causing (Y/N) to close her eyes and stiffen up. She bit down hard on her lip, attempting to hold in her brewing screams, and Peter was pretty sure she was holding her breath too.

Peter tried getting the spider one more time. He stepped a little closer and cupped the eight-legged abomination in his hands. When he stepped away, he saw all the muscles in her body relax.

“Thank you,” the words came out a mere whisper. They were looking at each other for a few seconds until Peter remembered that he could talk.

“Yeah, no problem” he breathed out a smile, “I- ouch! Oh shit!” A pain erupted from his hand and shot through his whole body. (Y/N)’s relief had made him completely forget about the spider encased in his palm. The spider was sick of being stuck in his grip too, apparently, because when he opened up his hands he saw the arachnoid poised in the middle… A red circle surrounding it. He looked at it in shock. The bastard had actually bitten him?! Was he going to die? Every possible outcome rushed through his mind, none of them resulting in a happy ending. How would he tell Aunt May? She would be so mad if he died on a school field trip. Nausea coursed through him and his head felt light. He couldn’t tell if it was from the bite or the prospect of his furious aunt. The spider twitched on his palm, making his skin itch. Without thinking, he shook his hand. The spider fell off and disappeared from view. Peter searched, but couldn’t see it anywhere. That’s what he always hated the most about spiders, the way they could roughly vanish into thin air. He felt very uneasy knowing it could be anywhere.

“Are you okay?” The soft voice brought him back. His eyes meeting (Y/N)’s.

“Huh? Yeah, yeah. I’m fine,” he paused thinking of the right words, not wanting to stir panic within her, “are you okay? you almost fell and you know…”

“Yes, I’m good. Thank you, again,” she blushed. Peter thought she looked really cute. The way her cheeks had this soft pink glow against hair fair skin. “But didn’t it bite you?” She raised her eyebrow. Peter hoped she hadn’t seen that. He pulled down the sleeve of his sweater so it would cover his hand. “Nah, I’m fine.”

“So, what was that _ouch_ all about.” There was an amused expression on her face. Peter wanted to say something, but no words came out. After a while, he stammered out, “cramp.”

“Cramp?” she scoffed, clearly not believing any of it. Peter nodded to try and assure her this was the case. The sound of screeching wheels below interrupted the awkward conversation. The two of them looked down at the bottom of the steps where the giant yellow school bus had just rolled to a stop. Peter wanted to get away from the confrontation so he started making his way downstairs, walking fast, faces passed. Peter hummed the piano melody when somebody called out his name, in some way or another…

“Hey, Penis Parker!” Flash yelled out from above him. Peter stopped and turned around. “Do you want your stuff?” Flash was standing next to his backpack.

“Oh, yeah, thanks, Flash.” He was walking up to meet him, but Flash had other plans.

He picked up Peter’s bag and practically yeeted it down at his owner. There was a $200 graphic calculator in it and aunt May would most likely kill him if he broke it. Fearing Aunt May’s wrath, Peter jumped up trying to catch it. His usually horrible reflexes gone as he grabbed it just in time. Another shot of pain rushed through him. Why did he have to catch it with _that_ hand? He almost dropped the backpack as his whole arm went numb from pain.

“Oh right, totally fine,” he heard (Y/N) mumble from the bottom of the stairs. She rolled her eyes and headed off for the bus. Feeling defeated and a bit humiliated, Peter stayed behind, frozen on the steps. There was this feeling at the bottom of his stomach. This mix of nervous nausea and general sickness feeling his guts.

Peter could feel the ground underneath him shake as the rest of his classmates walked to the bus as well. Ned walked up to him, “at least you tried.” Ned gave him a little pat on the shoulder and more uncomfortable sensations littered throughout his body. They felt like ten thousand knives stabbing him in the shoulder, traveling all the way to his fingertips. He had to hold in a groan and the few tears collecting in his eyes.

Ned turned around to look at Peter when he realized his best friend wasn’t walking behind him. “Pete, let’s go.”

“Yeah, okay.” But Peter didn’t move. Ned had to get up the stairs again and drag Peter down himself.

“You’re pathetic, you know that?” Ned said as he grabbed him by the arm. More pain flushed through Peter. Through slightly gritted teeth, he managed to say: “Yeah, I know.”

They made their way over to the bus, the last ones to get inside. Ned walked ahead of Peter, finding his way to their usual seats. Peter would normally join him, but his legs were buckling beneath him. He fell into the first seat he reached and sank against the window. The cold glass cooled down his now boiling face. It also sent chills down his spine. He was sure his body temperature would break a thermometer, and the pain was spreading from his arm to his chest and right through to his feet. _Maybe he was really dying_. All those jokes he made were coming to bite him in the ass. He definitely didn’t feel so smarmy now. _Everything hurt so much._

His painful thoughts had to be interrupted when his whole body started to shake. _Oh, he was having a seizure? Why not._ Only he wasn’t, because he heard a voice: “Peter, Peter!” Two hands gripped his shoulders. Peter groaned, pain bursting into him again, as he opened his eyes. _When did he even close them?_

“What?” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes. His arm ached with every small movement. He could feel someone looking at him.

“You have to get up unless you want to stay on the bus for the whole night.” It was Ned. Chuckling. Peter didn’t understand, but then he looked out the window and saw that the bus was standing in front of the school. How? When? Did he fall asleep? Did he already die and this was heaven… no, this was school - he was in hell!

Very slowly, he managed to pull himself up, the pain not subsiding for even a moment. Cold sweat pooled at his forehead and begun to trail down it in small, uneven lines. The feeling was so intense as his entire body began to shiver. One of his knees was shaking so bad that he almost fell over. If it wasn’t for Ned catching him, he would have hit his face in the seat of the bus bench. 

“Are you okay?” Ned asked, still holding on to him. Peter pulled himself together. Clearing his dry throat, he managed to make out: “Yeah, yeah, just a bit sick.”

He picked his backpack up from the seat next to him. Stupidly using that hand again. Ned was still looking at him, so Peter bit his lip and pushed through it. He pulled the backpack over his shoulder, it still hurt but not so intensely as his hand. Ned gave his friend a concerned look. Peter just smiled through his pain. _Yes, just smile while you feel like you’re being skinned alive. Just like any other day. Except it’s much worse. So, so much worse._

His internal monologue almost blocked out Ned’s voice. Peter could see his lips move and he knew there were words coming out of them, but everything just sounded like an air horn. His head hurt. Not getting any answer, Ned walked away, glancing back at Peter a few times before leaving the bus. Peter was now the only one left in the vehicle. Even the driver had gotten out, probably ready to smoke a cigarette after a full day driving around teenagers.

Step by step, he made his way outside, clinging onto anything he could to steady himself. Immediately, he was blasted by the sun, and a blistering feeling covered his corneas. _Since when was it so bright in New York?_ He almost tripped, forgetting the last step. Thankfully, there was nobody around him to bear witness to that. Nobody to see him walk clumsily to the subway station, reminiscent of a Walker from the Walking Dead. Granted, he received a few strange looks from the people on the subway, but Peter had the feeling they had seen stranger things… oh, at least now he knew how Will Byers felt all through season 2. Was the spider possibly from the Upside Down? Was Oscorp a real-life Hawkins Lab? Were they also trying to make a passageway to another dimension? It all made sense…all those weird alien things attacking New York for the past few years… they were just Demogorgons and whatnot.

Peter almost missed his stop. He was falling asleep again. The conspiracy theory about his favorite Netflix show becoming a bit too much for his last two working brain cells, but he knew he had to get back home. If he didn’t, things might end up getting much worse. The doors of the subway slid open and he urged himself forward, head rush hitting as soon as he moved. But by some miracle, he managed to weave past the other commuters and stumble onto the platform… Next followed a walk of thirty minutes which usually took him about ten. Most of the delay was caused by his tempo, his legs hurt too much to keep up his normal speed, but there were a few occasions in which Peter just simply took a wrong turn and almost ended up on the other side of the city. On a few occasions, he actually walked into a dark alley on purpose, his eyes couldn’t take the firing sunbeams anymore. These were all signs, he knew it - death was upon him.

Finally, at his own door. He swallowed, hard, trying to muster the strength to search for his keys. None came. Instead, he weakly knocked on the door, waiting for May to open it. His face felt like a juxtaposition, hot and cold all at once. His knees were now shaking at the weight of the rest of his body and his arms hung heavy by his side. The only thing that was missing was Aunt May’s spaghetti. _Yes, this is definitely the time to make horrible jokes. While you are dying in the corridor._ If he had the power, he would have kicked himself. Thankfully, the door swung open.

Aunt May appeared in front of him. The smell of her walnut meatloaf perforated the apartment and now the corridor, filling Peter’s nostrils and he was _this_ close to throwing up. It wasn’t even because of the meatloaf, even if it was always a catastrophe, it was more the change for his senses that caused it. The difference in smells made his head spin and his stomach turn.

Aunt May had not been paying attention to the state of her nephew. Peter assumed she was rummaging in the key bowl next to the door. He could hear the tingling of metal in porcelain. The high-pitched noises left a ringing sound in his ears.

“Did you lose your key again? I swear, Pete-” May’s last words faded at the sight of him once she finally looked in his direction. Peter knew he must look horrible. The right word was probably “dead”. He looked dead. At least that is how he felt.

“What’s wrong with you?” She pulled him inside as Peter tumbled into the apartment, his legs giving up on him. If it wasn’t for May, he would have fallen to the ground, face first. She grumbled as she tried to keep him up and steady. Securing her arms around his waist, she managed to direct Peter to the couch, which he fell onto immediately. His eyes closed the moment his head touched the pillow. He couldn’t wait for sleep to properly hit him now.

He could feel a blanket being wrapped around him and a cool hand touching his forehead. It felt amazing. For the last few minutes, he had been feeling like he was stuck in a sauna. He could hear May’s voice in the distance, even though she was right next to him. “Oh Pete, you’re burning up,” May’s concerned voice echoed in his head. He just groaned in agreement. Unconsciously he pulled the sleeve even more over his bitten hand, attempting to hide it from May. He felt the weight of the couch change, telling him that his aunt was now sitting on the other side. There probably wasn’t much space left for her, as he could feel the opposite arm with his feet. May tried to pull his legs up to place them gently on her lap, not wanting to cause Peter anymore discomfort. Except, when his limbs moved, more pain shot through him and Peter practically yelled out in agony. May dropped them in surprise, causing another surge to race through Peter.

“Peter?” there was no real question asked, so he didn’t respond. His eyelids were so heavy now that he couldn’t even blink them open. He didn’t know when, but at some point, he finally fell asleep.

________________________________________

When he woke up, Peter couldn’t move. His barely existent muscles were fiery from the intense pain. Breathing had to be kept to a minimum because heaving his chest hurt too much. His head was throbbing. He could practically feel his brain pulsing, each and every beat adding to his miserable state. His clothes felt drenched from the cold sweat.

There was a knock on the door. Without thinking, Peter answered weakly with a, “come in.” But wasn’t he in the living room? Why would he answer that? He opened his eyes. Above him was not the grey ceiling under which he fell asleep. Instead, he saw the bottom of his bunk bed. How did he get to his own room?

The door of his room opened. Peter closed his eyes again, the glare from the light on the bedside table was too bright for his eyes. It was too painful. Footsteps approached him, they were heavy, definitely not Aunt May’s. The voice that accompanied the steps, verified Peter’s speculations.

“Hey, buddy.” Uncle Ben bowed down to sit next to him on the bed. The switch of the weight in the mattress made Peter shift a bit, causing a wave of pain to run through his ribs. It wasn’t as bad as before, but a small cry still left his lips. He made another attempt at opening his eyes. The light still agitated him, but he worked through it. Soon enough, he saw the broad shape of his uncle sharply in front of him. His sympathetic smile poked from underneath his mustache. He was holding a plate in one hand. Peter could smell burnt toast. _Was he having a stroke?!_

“Once you feel like you can get up, eat some breakfast, okay? I brought you some toast.” Oh, that explained it. But one thing was still bugging Peter. “Breakfast?” he quizzed his uncle. He hadn’t even eaten dinner yet. Ben chuckled at his confusion. As always, his laugh was casual but mocking at the same time.

“You’ve been knocked out cold for a good fifteen hours, Pete. May called the doctors at least five times.” Peter rose so quickly he felt like he got whiplash. His vision spun for a moment. He was starting to feel sick in the pit of his stomach. He couldn’t have been sleeping that long. What was the last time he even slept more than six hours? He couldn’t remember.

“Fif-fifteen hours?” he mumbled as he held his head, trying to keep it steady. Everything was still spinning in front of his eyes hazily.

“Yeah, I brought you to bed after the first few. Thought it might be a bit more comfortable,” he smiled. Small wrinkles spreading next to his eyes. Showing that even with his great looks, age would catch up with everyone eventually.

Uncle Ben put down the plate near Peter’s legs and got up. He reached out for the pillow lying on the upper bed of the two. After fluffing it for a while he put it behind Peter’s back, who leaned against it immediately.

“Thanks.” Peter sighed satisfied. The spinning in his head finally stopped.

“Well, call us if you need something. Get some rest, and eat if you can.” He leaned down to pat Peter’s knee. A high pitched squeal left his mouth at every touch. It hurt _so_ much.

“Sorry.” His uncle gave him one last, apologetic, smile before walking to the door and closing it behind him, leaving Peter alone. Peter took a few deep breaths. Yes, his body felt like it was on fire and his clothes stuck to his sweaty skin, but on the bright side, at least he didn’t feel like he was about to faint from exhaustion. He was wide awake, in fact. He could finally think straight again.

The empty feeling in his stomach encouraged him to pick up the plate of toast. It was just plain toasted bread, but in his state, Peter knew that it was the safest option. He was hungry and he would like to actually keep the food he ate in him and not puke it out a moment later. He went to grab the plate but froze when he saw his hand. He almost threw up right there.

The red circle that had formed soon after the bite, was now dark purple, almost black. It had also spread over most of his hand drawing all the way back to his wrist - which had swollen tremendously. On the back of his hand, his blue veins taut against his skin and he could swear he could see the blood pumping around them.

But even with the horrible look of it, the hand didn’t hurt anymore. If he closed his eyes, it was almost as if nothing ever happened… almost. But really the pain had simply moved to every other part of his body and squared itself. And then there was the fever and vertigo. _What did that spider do to him?_

He didn’t want to think about it. It was best not to think about it. Too much thinking about it couldn’t help him anyway. Worst case scenario, he dies. _Oh, well._ It would happen sooner or later. Of course, later was always much preferred, but… oh, who was he kidding? Peter didn’t want to die. Not like this. Not a vi…

“Peter?” Aunt May’s sleek, brunette hair appeared in the doorway. Like a flash, Peter had buried his bruised and swollen hand deep under the covers. He could only imagine the reaction it would have on her. There was no need for that. Peter just hoped he was quick enough. Fortunately, she didn’t. Taking one step forward she wrinkled her nose, “ugh, Pete, open the window for once, would you.”

“Sorry.” With his free hand, he took one piece of toast off the plate.

May walked to the window and drew the curtains. The sun shone into the room, searing Peter’s eyes. It was a big change from the weak light coming from the small lamp on his nightstand., The light from outside was much too harsh, his eyes were still very sensitive. It was as if his eyes couldn’t take up all the light particles anymore. He whined as he hid his eyes away from the brightness, and then again as he moved a tad too quickly. His muscles still ached as much as they had when he fell asleep on the couch. When he opened his eyes again to look at Aunt May, the room got even brighter, as if someone had dialed up the brightness to over a 100%.

He saw her open the window and that is when everything really went berserk: A police car speeded by through the street nearby and Peter thought his head would explode at the noise. He had never heard anything louder in his life… and he had gone to a Metallica concert with Uncle Ben last fall. His ears were still ringing when May walked up from the window.

“Eat up. I’m gonna bring you some medicine and I want to check your temperature,” she eyed him up and down, “and put on some fresh pajamas.” Her eyes had that friendly sternness in them for which she was known.

“Yes, ma'am.” Peter smiled as he took another bite of his toast, the dry food hard to swallow but at least he wasn’t throwing it up. “Could you also bring some water?” He did his best to look as innocent as possible.

May gave him one last look before walking off to get the medicine and a thermometer. Peter ate one whole piece of toast before struggling to his feet, fighting through the pain in his legs and arms the entire time. His eyes remained closed until he was upright, taking a few small breaths first. He made his way to his closet to get a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. Every step hurt, his joints grinding, it took everything in him not to scream. The short walk had already exhausted him and he still had to pick some clothes and then put them on! Not to mention, he also had to take off the gross clothes he was already wearing. Tentatively, he shimmered out of the sweater that was stuck to his chest. Just like predicted, he was glistening from the sweat that dripped down his body. He had a feeling that as much as he was perspiring, this was a fever he just couldn’t sweat out.

With his upper body bare, he could get a better look at the rest of his arm. The bruising around his hand had only reached his wrist so far. But the dark veins were already showable all up to his elbow. Thick and bulging. Was this poison running through his veins? Would it kill him the moment it would reach his heart?

Peter glanced at the shirt he picked. It was a white short sleeve. With this one, it would be impossible to hide his arm. He put it on and over that a red hoodie that was comfortably laying in reach on a chair next to him. Perfect to cover up whatever was happening to him. He wasn’t doing this because he didn’t want his aunt and uncle to find out… well, that too, but mainly, he just didn’t want to look at it himself. It looked disgusting.

So he put on the sweater and took his jeans off, exchanging them for some blue sweatpants. The door opened once more, _didn’t people in this house know how to knock?_ Peter only had one pant leg on so he jumped around a bit startled, almost toppling over. It would have been funny if he wasn’t in so much pain. He could swear he could hear his heartbeat in his head. _Was that normal? Could he usually feel that? Surely not. Was he losing brain fluid? Was he literally drying out? It would make sense from the way he was feeling._

“Hi there,” Peter said awkwardly while still jumping around on one leg. Each time hurt more than the other. The dizziness was also coming back.

May had stood in the doorway waiting for him to finish putting on his trousers. The little nurse cap on top of her head. After all this time, Peter still couldn’t believe she kept that ridiculous thing. It started out as a little joke. His aunt would wear it when Peter was little and feeling a bit under the weather. Over the years it had just stuck around and become their thing. Even Uncle Ben would put it on sometimes. But mostly when it was Aunt May who was sick.

“Alright. Here.” She handed him a glass of water and five different kinds of pills. Peter had no idea if the medicine would actually work. He didn’t know if something against radioactive spiders could be found in your average drugstore. _Radioactive, where did that come from?_ He had no idea, but it all made sense now. It did happen in front of the Oscorp lab. A company so toxic and poisonous from all the chemicals that Peter was surprised he hadn’t grown another set of eyes or something from just standing in front of the building.

He took the pills from May and was about to take the first one but she stopped him abruptly, “wait!” Peter didn’t know what to do. Was he supposed to take the pill or not? His hand was suspended in mid-air, mouth hanging wide open, Peter looked to his aunt. His arm starting to shake from the position it was suspended in, so he let it fall to his side. His eyes still locked with Aunt May’s.

“Let me first check your temperature.” She shoved the thermometer into his open mouth without hesitation. Peter almost choking on the metal end. He and May stood in silence looking at each other until the beeping sounded from the little device and Peter opened his mouth to pull it out. He handed it over, afraid to look himself. He already knew what to expect. He had been burning up the whole day. That could not lead to a normal body temperature.

And he was correct because when May looked at the result, she gasped: “104 degrees!” Her hand shot to Peter’s forehead. Standing for so long was draining all his energy. When her hand reached face, he had to hold on to a bookshelf to stop from falling over backward.

Her eyebrows furrowed she let go of him. “Okay, that’s it. You’re getting in bed! Now!” Her arm was straight, Pointing in the direction of the heap of blankets. Peter followed her demand before she could do anything about it herself. If she had pushed just a little bit, he would be laying on the floor with a concussion. He was sure of that.

“You’ve been walking around without a jacket again, haven’t you?” she exclaimed once he was laying in bed again, tucking him in. Peter wanted to protest. To say that no, he has always had a jacket on. But what would be the point? He couldn’t exactly tell her that a spider bit him and that now its venom was flowing through his body. No, he could, but why would he give her, even more, to stress out about. Let’s keep it at one tragedy at a time.

May tucked him in so tight that he could barely breathe. He was lucky he had remembered to leave his arms free from the covers, or otherwise, he would have been stuck with the pills and glass of water underneath it. May stood up straight, looking rather proud of her job, but more than a hint of concern could still be seen in her expression. Peter expected her to leave now, but she just stood watching him. Like she was expecting something from him. Which she was, he remembered -

“Oh, right.” He put one of the pills in his mouth, swallowing it down with some water. He did the same thing with the other four. The last one he had a particularly hard time with. It was disgusting! Peter gagged when the small capsule got stuck in his throat. May had to help him not choke. Once she was sure Peter was safe and could breathe properly again, she let out a sigh of relief.

“Ok, call if you need anything. I took a day of work. Ben will be leaving in an hour or so… uhm, your phone is on the charger. But I don’t want you staring at a screen the whole day so, read a book or something.” The stern look came back on her face.

“You got it.” Peter handed back the glass. He watched as she left his room, leaving the door slightly ajar so she could see if he needed her. He sighed, using his last bit of energy. Now that he was a bit relaxed, he felt how his legs were shaking from those five minutes of standing. His head felt heavier again, so he lowered it onto his pillow. It was so soft that he soon was dozing off again.

________________________________________

Peter stirred in his sleep. The clock on the wall ticked loudly. Each tick reminiscent to his own heartbeat. Steady, but too loud for his own ears. There was another noise that bothered him and in the end, also was what woke him up. Footsteps. They weren’t Ben’s or May’s. He knew those all too well from all the nights in which he had to look out for them walking in on him while he was watching youtube or Netflix in the middle of the night. No, this was someone else… And they were walking towards his door. How did he know that? He could feel his heart beating in his throat now. The steps were so clear in his mind that he could envision the person nearing him. Getting closer and closer.

He was ready for a knock on his door any moment now, but nothing came. Instead, he heard the doorbell. Then May’s footsteps making their way to answer. Those he identified easily. She unlocked the door and Peter could hear her talking loud and clear: “Hello, there.” He could actually hear the smile that he knew was consuming her face.

“Hi,” it was a girl, a girl he knew, “I’m (Y/N). I go to school with Peter.” Her voice sounded shy. The same way when she was taken aback by a teacher asking her questions in class.

From the few people who cared about his existence at school, she was probably the last person who Peter would expect to visit him. His heart skipped a beat. Because - _(Y/N)!?_ What was she doing here? How did she even know where he lived? And wasn’t it a school day? Or did he sleep through the whole day already? The questions made his head hurt again, so Peter stopped thinking. Instead, he tried to concentrate on listening to the conversation. It hurt his head but happened much easier than he thought. It seemed impossible to him that he could not only hear, but also understand what they were saying from the distance which separated him, May and (Y?N).

Their conversation continued with a gasping laugh coming from May: “Ah, (Y/N). I’m Peter’s aunt, May. Nice to meet you.” (Y/N)’s voice responded almost immediately, now sounding more confident. “Likewise.” He had the feeling that the two were now shaking hands. Peter heard a creaking sound, presumably the front door opening wider. Then May spoke again, “come in. Come in. Does Peter know you’re-”

“Oh no.” (Y/N) interrupted, with a small laugh, “Ned was supposed to bring him his homework, but something popped up for the decathlon, so…” her words faded in the end, probably not having prepared a full answer. May, however, wasn’t bothered.

“Right, right. Well, come on in. I think he is sleeping.” This was followed by a small giggle. It was hard for Peter to identify who it was coming from. May? (Y/N)? Maybe both of them were laughing?

Peter rolled his eyes. If he had the strength, he would have run over to them and interrupted this embarrassing moment. It was so unfair. Wasn’t he supposed to at least be in the room if his aunt was embarrassing him in front of his crush?

After a small silence that followed the giggles, May spoke again: “I’ll go check up on him.” Footsteps approached his door for real this time. May sauntered in, her eyes sparkling even more than usual. Peter sat up as straight as his aching body would let him. His jaw locked in frustration…or was it from the pain?

His aunt was beaming gleefully, closing the door softly behind her so she could talk to her nephew in private.

“May, what are you doing?” he asked, internally freaking out and the smug expression of his aunt was not making anything better for him.

“Nothing,” May batted a hand in his direction, although he was sure he saw the corner of her mouth turning up, “there’s a girl-” She pointed back at the door with her thumb.

“I know,” he blurted out. May was taken aback but kept going. The smile not even fading from the corners of her mouth as she talked.

“She’s cute,” she teased. Peter wished that his illness would hurry up and kill him already. Mentally, this was so much worse than any pain he had endured so far.

“I know,” he repeated through gritted teeth this time, “and that’s why I don’t want her to see me like this.” He pointed at his face, which felt hot and sweaty and was probably paler than paper. May rolled her eyes at his dramatics. Biting her lip, like she always did when she was joking and said: “You look adorable, I’m sure she won’t mind. I’m letting her in.” Before Peter could object she was bouncing off towards the front door where (Y/N) stood to wait. The footsteps on the hardwood floor were clear as (Y/N) made her way through the apartment to his room. Peter felt beads of sweat drip down his forehead. He didn’t know if it was the fever or the nerves causing it. He never had a girl standing in his room before. And this was not the way he had pictured he would look the first time.

There was a gentle _knock knock_ on the door. Peter answered with a croaking: “Come in.” and the door opened. Her hair fell into view before the rest of her. She poked her head inside. Probably a bit insecure about walking into his room for the first time, not sure what to expect.

“Hey there,” her voice its usual softness. Peter could barely make out her small wave as, as usual, her hand was completely covered by her oversized sweater. Peter waved back awkwardly. She drifted around his room, observing all his little trinkets. He followed her with his eyes, hoping he didn’t leave anything humiliating lying around. From what he could see, he seemed to be fine. Although that reassurance vanished when he took another look at her. She seemed to have lingered on one thing in his room for an extended period of time, “is that a Lego Millenium Falcon?” She pointed at the object. Peter followed her finger. He looked at the grey sculpture standing in the corner of the room, leaning against a stand that Peter build after the original had broken when he and Ned were building it.

“Uh yeah,” Peter blushed. He couldn’t gauge from her level tone whether she was impressed or about to mock him. He hoped the former. Luckily, he wasn’t wondering for long, as she walked up to it and smiled, “how long did it take you to build it?”

Peter scratched the back of his neck as he watched her examine the small version of the iconic spaceship. “I don’t know. A few weeks, maybe. Ned and I did it together.” She glanced at him from where she was standing, but her eyes went back to the Lego not even two seconds after. Whit a smile she commented: “Aw, that’s so cool. I have the Star Destroyer set at home, been trying to build it with my brother.” She looked at the lego set in fascination.

As she was not paying much attention to him, Peter didn’t know what to do. Should he lay down or stay seated? Should he start a proper conversation? He had no idea. This was the first time he had ever been properly alone with her. Trying to think of something as a reply, he dried his clammy hands on the duvet.

“Oh, cool.” Probably the un-coolest thing he could respond with, but he did anyway. (Y/N) chortled at his words, attention still on the Falcon. When she had finished marveling at it, she came over and sat down on the edge of his bed. 

There was a sheepish smile on her face.“How are you feeling?” she asked, “Ned told me you were sick. Was it the spider?” The last part came out as a whisper, which Peter appreciated as she never closed the bedroom door behind her.

Peter shook his head.“No, just a fever. Nothing bad,” he assured her. She looked skeptical, not buying into his flimsy story, and honestly, he couldn’t blame her. He didn’t believe it himself, so why would she. But she didn’t question him any further. Instead, she changed the subject completely. “Well, I brought you your homework. Ned couldn’t make it.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said. (Y/N) raised an eyebrow at him.

“You do?” Oh, he messed up. How could he have possibly known why she was here without having listened in on the conversation she had with Aunt May? He couldn’t tell her that. He didn’t want her to think he was weird. “Yeah. Ned, uh, h-he texted me,” he stuttered out in the end.

“Weird. I didn’t tell him that I was coming to see you.” she bend down to look through her backpack, which she had put down next to her on the floor before. She had said this very emotionlessly. Peter started to worry again. He thought he had this under control, but oh boy, was he far from that.

“I meant, that he texted me that he couldn’t come himself,” he tried again. Her expression softened a bit with the new information, even laughing a bit. She sat up straight. Seeing the worry in Peter she laughed even more.

“Wow, chill out, Parker. Obviously, I did tell him,” her laughter filling up the room, melodic sounds that seemed to match Peter’s heartbeat perfectly. “Otherwise, how would I have gotten your address? Well, anyway,” she put her backpack on top of her lap and unzipped it, “here’s your homework.” She pulled out a big pile of papers and a small box of what seemed to be cookies, “and here are some chocolate chip cookies my mom baked last night. I picked them up on my way from school to your place. I don’t know if you want them, or even like them, but yeah…” She looked a bit unsure at the clear tapestry before handing it over to him.

“Thanks.” He took the box and stack of homework from her, placing them down on the bed aside from her. He wanted to get rid of them quickly before his arms gave out but he didn’t want (Y/N) to know that. He looked down at his hands. The fingers of his left hand were trembling a bit. He glanced back at her, only to see her staring blankly at the open zipper of her bag.

“So…” he wanted to start a conversation, desperately trying to cling on to any good starters. At the sound of his voice, she eagerly looked up from her backpack. “Ho-how are you?” he asked, slightly cringing at his own words.

“I’m good,” she smiled sheepishly, “you?” She paused, cursing herself, “that’s a stupid question. Sorry.”

“No. It’s- I’m fine. Just a bit tired, I guess,” Peter rambled. As if the bed was suddenly burning her, she shot up. Mumbling, “right, sorry. I should let you rest.” She was walking away. Peter’s eyes were glued on her. Cursing himself with every move she made away from him.

Her hand wrapped around the door handle, about to leave. Peter wanted to stop her. He didn’t want to be alone and those short minutes with her had almost completely distracted him from the imminent death he was sure was coming. But he couldn’t possibly ask her to stay. He would sound weird and pathetic. They weren’t actually friends, as much as Peter yearned for it. He opened his mouth regardless, “no, wait. Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m not _that_ tired.” His incoherent babbling was making (Y/N) smile, every time he tripped over a word her smile grew bigger. 

“It’s okay, Peter. I have to get going anyway. I hope you get better soon.”

“I hope so too,” he laughed awkwardly. Before she left she had a few last words for Peter. She turned around. With a smirk, she said, “ **I like that color on you.** ” Her cheeks turned a soft shade of pink and Peter had the feeling his cheeks looked the same. Although, his face had been boiling all day, so who knows.

“What?” he asked with a small laugh. He couldn’t remember the last time he got a compliment from a girl - that wasn’t his aunt. It had also come so suddenly that he wasn’t sure if she had actually said or if it was just a figment of his imagination, resulting from him being so sick. He just looked at her startled.

“The blue and red,” she pointed at his clothes, “not a lot of people dare to color block anymore. It suits you.” Peter looked down at his hoodie. _It was okay_ , he thought, _nothing too special though._

“Oh, uhm, thanks, what was he supposed to say? He frantically searched his brain for something light-hearted, “you look good… too.” That was not it. Peter wanted to bury his head in his hands. _Why did he have to be like this?_ Fortunately, she laughed it off and waved him goodbye, saying, “bye, Peter, I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah, sure.” He said so faintly it was almost a whisper. He waved her off until she closed the door behind her. Falling back into his pillow, his spine cracked in a few spots. It didn’t hurt, but Peter had to admit, that did not sound healthy. But he had other things to worry about, so he pushed it to the side. For example: how was it possible that he could hear May and (Y/N) talk on the other side of the apartment? Was it a fluke? Peter needed to know, so he concentrated as hard as he could. More footsteps. (Y/N)’s footsteps. They were light and quick. Almost as if she barely touched the ground while walking. Then they stopped, but he didn’t hear the door open. Instead, there were voices. Just like Peter assumed, May said, “oh, are you leaving already?”

(Y/N) sighed. “Yes, I got homework to do, so I should really get going.” An airy laugh left (Y/N)’s lips. _How can I possibly hear this,_ he thought - still very confused about the whole situation. He expected to hear (Y/N)’s gentle voice again, but it was May who spoke: “Well, thank you for stopping by. I’m sure Peter enjoyed the company.” The two said their goodbyes and after a shuffle of footsteps, the door banged a couple of times, as May tried to close. Uncle Ben had planned on fixing the jammed door already for weeks. Peter let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He was glad that (Y/N) had left because he didn’t have to pretend like he was not in agony.. But, at the same time, he was sad. Because Aunt May was right. He did enjoy the company.

The next thing that happened was difficult to describe. It was… strange at the very least. The door to his room opened without a warning, but Peter was prepared, sensing it before it happened. It wasn’t that he knew it would be May, but he could _feel_ it. In a very specific way that he just couldn’t explain to himself. It wasn’t that he heard her walk or that he could see her. He just felt the presence of someone nearing him. It made the hair on his arms stand up. Like all his normal senses blacked out and were exchanged for this other, new, sense, that he didn’t know he had. Did he actually have it before? It didn’t seem like it. The sensation was too bizarre. If he had ever experienced it before, he would have remembered.

May walked in, practically radiating from the opportunity she had to tease Peter.“Sooo,” May smirked as she rounded the door,. “who is she?” Why could Peter feel his aunt coming to his room, but not expect this conversation? Even when he knew she wanted to talk to him.

“No- no one. Just- just a girl from school.” Peter scratched the back of his neck, not feeling like having this conversation right now. May crossed her arms as she leaned oh-so-casually against the door.

“Uh-huh, sure. So every girl at your school is _cute_?” her voice rising on the last word, eyebrows waggling wildly. Peter wished he hadn’t said that. He closed his eyes hoping to find an easy way out from this conversation.

The feeling from before came back. Even with his eyes closed, it was like he could see his aunt walk towards him. He could see her reach out for his hand. The bitten hand. Like a reflex, Peter pulled it away, still wanting to keep his secret. Opening his eyes again, he saw that May was, indeed, crouching at the side of his bed. Her mouth hanging open slightly and brow now furrowed. Luckily, she had misunderstood it as a moody-teenager-move. Her smug smile changed when she wrinkled her nose and she pressed her lips to one corner of her mouth.

“Pete, you don’t have to be ashamed. It’s natural,” she mused. “if you ever wanna talk about anything, come to me.” She laid a hand on his hair, before drawing it away when she felt how damp it was, ”or Ben, if you don’t feel comfortable. Just talk, okay?”

“Yeah.” It was a weak yeah, but it was enough to satisfy his aunt. He reciprocated May’s smile which only widened hers.

She sat down on her knees on the ground, her elbows on the edge of the bed, while she leaned her chin on her hands. With wiggling eyebrows she “So tell me, what’s she like?”

“Ugh, oh my god!” Peter rolled his eyes with a groan. He thought that would be the end of it, but apparently not…Was he really having this conversation with her right now? On his deathbed?

“Fine, fine. I thought I would at least try. She seemed nice though.” May backed off with the questions. Her eyes suddenly flashed to something laying next to him, “she brought you cookies?” May reached out for the little tapestry box. With a click, it opened and the smell of warm chocolate filled the room. _Did she warm them up for him?_ Peter watched his aunt take one cookie out of the box.

“Oh, these are good!” she said, taking a bite, immediately followed by a small moan. “Did she make those for you?” She waved around with the remaining part of the cookie.

“No, no, her mom did. She just…brought them.”

“Right, well, I’ll leave them here then. But…” she took two more cookies, “I’m taking these with me.” Winking she got up and left Peter alone again. Not for very long though, as her head poked around the doorframe moments later, “how are you feeling? Steady enough to join us for dinner?” Peter just nodded.

“Yeah, I’m a bit better. Still a bit hot.” He rubbed his dry eyes. The rough skin on his fingertips didn’t make it much better. May had watched his every move curiously.

“Hmm, I’ll check your temperature again later, and give you some cold medicine.” She walked away, this time for good. Peter didn’t know what to do. From the clock on the wall he saw there would still be around an hour until dinner and from two whole days of sleeping, he was now wide awake. He hadn’t realized it when he had company, but his muscles weren’t causing him as much pain anymore. Now it was a mere myalgia. Like he used to have every time after Gym class when they were forced to do a PACER test. His body felt like it was starting to return to normal. Except for his face, but that was just the fever, he was sure of it. Well, pretty sure. Like 70% sure.

Peter’s stomach rumbled. The idea of dinner already sneaking its way into his brain. He hadn’t eaten properly since lunch of yesterday. The smell of the chocolate in the cookies filled his nostrils and made his mouth water. He couldn’t deny, they smelled delicious.

And they were delicious. Peter took one bite and the cookie melted in his mouth. The chocolate was hot, but not hot enough to actually burn his tongue. It was amazing, probably the best cookie he had ever tasted. Which was a bit suspicious. No cookie ever tasted that good after 24 hours. Good cookies were still good, but this was a bit _too_ _good_. And they were warm. Not the microwave kind of warm, no, this was straight from the oven warm. Did she actually bake those for him?

Even though he was alone, he shook his head in denial. No, there was no way. When would she have gotten the time to do that? And why would she? They barely knew each other. It didn’t make sense. They weren’t on the ‘ _I’ll come over and bring you cookies when you’re sick_ ’ level of friendship. Although, just minutes ago he didn’t think they were on ‘ _complimenting each other_ ’ level, yet, that still happened.

“Hey, Peter?” Ben’s voice roamed the apartment. It shook Peter out of his paranoia. The small shock made him jump up in his position on the bed, throwing the box of cookies into the air. He moved around so quickly, that not even a crumb fell on the bed, including from the cookie he was holding.

“Nice catch.” Ben’s voice was closer now. Peter turned around his uncle standing, smiling at him. “How are you, buddy?”

“Fine, better than before.” Peter put down the box between his legs. Ben glanced down at the plastic container, a bit confused about why his nephew had a full box of chocolate-chip cookies.

“Good. Your aunt is asking me to ask you if you are joining us at the table.”

“What are we eating?” Peter quizzed his uncle, who just sighed in response. Peter sighed back, understanding what that meant, “if I tell you that I’m _too_ _sick_ , are you gonna make me get out there and eat that?”

“No, but I don’t think you can escape the meatloaf today, bud.” ben huffed out a laugh defeatedly.

“Right, I’ll just come.” He threw the blankets off his legs and kicked them back to the end of his bed. The small cramp in his thighs and calves making it hard to walk, and his knees were still a bit weak. However, that could be the cause of laying in bed the whole day. Uncle Ben had already walked back to the kitchen to help his wife not burn down the apartment. Peter went out to join them. He passed the mirror and wanted to do just that, pass it, but something he saw from his peripheral vision made his double take. He took a step back so he was standing in front of his reflection. At least, it looked like him at first glance. With a clearer inspection, the edges started to blur, minor details of his features morphing in front of him, or so it seemed. It looked like Peter if he had been amateurly drawn while sick. Everything was right, but just a bit wrong at the same time.

He was much paler. Hair stuck to his forehead. A vein in his neck was pulsing. It wasn’t dark though, like the ones in his arm. _His arm_. Peter pulled up the sleeve of his hoodie. To his surprise, all the veins were fading back to their normal color. His wrist was still a bit swollen, but the dark bruises had faded to a less threatening yellow hue with just a hint of red in the middle. The spot where the spider bit him. He stretched out his fingers to check if they hurt. _Nothing_. He pressed the middle of his palm with his ring and middle finger. _Still nothing_. The fingers didn’t hurt, but an intense pain erupted from the pressure point, through his arm, all the way up to his chest. But it was a different kind of pain. Not in his muscles. It felt like it was literally coming from his veins.

With all of this, freaking him out a bit too much, he pulled the sleeve back down and continued looking at his reflection. Except for the strange vein, there was something generally off-putting about his neck. Together with his shoulders, it all looked to be broader. He rolled his head from left to right, back and forth and then in a circular motion. He heard several cracks. They didn’t hurt. But when he rolled his head back again, it did a bit, like a horrible cramp. To stop the pain from getting worse, he pulled his head back up.

His eyes were back on the mirror. He traced his body slowly, trying to see every small detail. Now that he thought about it, the sleeves of his hoodie felt a bit tight. It was one of those things that you didn’t see until you realize it. The same went for his sweatpants. They were just a bit off. Maybe it had shrunk in the dryer? Clothes did that, after all. Hmm, the clothes. They were just a simple red hoodie and blue sweats. Really nothing special. A bit too bright, Peter thought. But for some reason, it did suit him. He had no idea why, but (Y/N) was right. With a smirk still plastered on his face, he walked away, ready to eat some “food” his aunt had prepared.


	2. Part 2

Peter stayed at home for the rest of the week. Each day he was feeling better and better, that didn’t stop the occasional twinge from his muscles… His senses were a whole different story too. His ears had been ringing for two days straight now, with no explanation as to why. His eyes couldn’t comprehend sunlight anymore. It was like somebody had turned up the HD in life up to eleven on a scale that only went to five. It was more than he could handle.

The bruise on his hand had also fully disappeared and had ceased hurting. He had occasional bursts of pain in his head, spine, joints, and ass, but for the most part, he felt normal. He couldn’t understand why, but there were moments where he just couldn’t sit. It hurt too much.

It was Sunday evening. Peter had decided that he would go back to school the next day. May had strongly suggested otherwise. Even Ben didn’t help to try and convince her otherwise. When it came to May, she was too stubborn when it came to things like that.

“Has your fever at least dropped? How are you feeling?” She interrogated him throughout the meal. They had this conversation at least twice before that same day.

“You know I don’t have a fever, you check my temperature every hour.” Peter played around with his food, not really feeling like eating anymore. May gave him that stern look that she only gave away very rarely. It was even more intimidating because it was coming through her glasses. The way she looked up from between them, Peter started to rethink every choice he had ever made in his life.

She finally sighed. “Fine, but if you feel sick, you call me. Understand?”

“Yes. Of course.” Peter said, nodding, before returning to his chicken. Silence saturated the air, all three flicking their food around their plate. Uncle Ben cleared his throat, “so… heard anything from (Y/N)?” Peter’s head fell back as he groaned in frustration at his uncle.

(Y/N) had become a regular topic at the dinner table ever since her visit. Peter often heard Ben and May whispering about them both when they thought he was out of earshot. Little did they know, he was never out of earshot. Peter wasn’t sure if they kept talking about her, because they wanted to nag on about his crush, or if they just wanted him to get the recipe for those cookies. Probably both, knowing them.

“I’m gonna go now.”

He rose, picking his glass and plate up, then dumping them into the sink. The door to his room was wide open, but once he was inside he pushed it closed. Apparently, a bit too hard, because the wood smashed with an imaginable force, echoing through the whole apartment. Peter cringed at the loud noise.

“What the hell was that?” Peter heard his aunt shout out angrily.

“Uhm… drought! Sorry.” He turned around to examine the door. Near the hinges, there were actually small cracks in the wooden panel. How had he ever managed to break the door?!

________________________________________

The next morning, Peter was getting ready for school. He was all dressed and had eaten breakfast. May made him go to bed extra early so he could get a good night sleep before the first day back to school. For the first time in his school career, Peter actually did what he was told and went to sleep at the ripe time of 10:30 pm.

After the quick breakfast, Peter went back to get his backpack. All the books were already there, including the homework he completed during his week off. He hesitated before picking it up, his bag already so full of books he wasn’t sure if he would be able to zip it up. It must weigh at least twelve pounds. He was feeling better, but this weight might be too much on a strain. He knew he needed to take it easy for a while. 

Riffling through them, he realized to his dismay that he needed them all for today, so, with a sigh, he gripped a strap of the backpack and yanked at the strap… At first, he was thrown off by the weightless, putting too much initial force into the lift and almost tumbling backward. Why weren’t his books heavy? He was sure he was going crazy, so dropped the bag to try again, shaking his head in an attempt to clear it. This time he firmly grasped the strap and used all his strength. The backpack flew through the air, almost out of the window, luckily it wasn’t open.

Peter walked over to it, bemused, but confused. He remembered packing the bag and he could plainly see the sharp edges of his textbook straining against the fabric, as they were all packed in so tightly. Hesitantly, he picked it up once more. Again, it was no trouble. He didn’t even have to strain a muscle. But it was heavy, he knew that. It wasn’t the bag that changed, it was him. That he knew for days now. But what was it that changed?

He pulled the backpack over his shoulder. Yes, he could feel the heaviness, but he could also feel the muscles rolling and flexing in his back, now lumbered with a new weight.

________________________________________

School was the usual. Even though he had been gone for a week, it felt like he hadn’t missed anything and in return, nobody missed him. Only after the first period, when he was at his locker, did he receive any sign of attention from someone.

“I missed you, man.” Ned sighed as he stepped over to Peter, who was putting some books in his locker. Peter laughed at his friends’ exaggeration.

“You saw me every day, Ned.” Peter didn’t look up from his books. It was true, except for Tuesday, when (Y/N) had visited him, Ned made sure to see him every day after school. Either to bring him homework or to just hang out.

Ned sighed, bumping his fist defeatedly on the lockers next to him. “Yeah, but that’s not the same, is it? School sucks without you.” He edged closer to Peter, whispering, “If you haven’t noticed, we are surrounded by idiots.” Peter wanted to respond with a laugh, but from the corner of his eye, he caught someone standing off to their right.

“Not everyone,” he whispered back. Ned looked in the direction in which Peter had glanced and then rolled his eyes.

Even though Peter turned away, Ned was still looking at (Y/N). Peter smacked him on the shoulder so he would stop staring before she would catch them. Unfortunately, he was too late. She closed her locker and noticed the two boys looking at them. She waved with confusion filled eyebrows. Peter waved back. Ned scoffed, “Right, I was wrong. _I_ am surrounded by idiots, including you.”

“Shut up, I meant uh… I meant Michelle, she’s like smarter than everyone.” Peter closed his locker. He meant to pull his hand away from the lock, but it stayed there, stuck in position. He was glued to the metal. There were footsteps next to him.

“Did someone prank you again?” The voice wasn’t Ned’s. Peter looked at his side, still trying to pull away from his locker. He stopped moving when he saw her. Her eyes sparkling in the grey light that illuminated the halls. Peter casually tried to pull his hand again, using the other as a leverage against the locker. This wasn’t a smart idea, because his other hand was stuck now too.

“Uhm, yeah. I think so,” he tried to laugh it off, not wanting to draw further attention to himself.

He tried to pull away one last time. Now, his hands slipped of smoothly, as if nothing had happened. He glanced at the handle of the locker, and at both his hands. There was nothing on either that could cause that reaction. His hand felt sticky, not sticky like it was covered in glue he would have too much fun peeling off later. Or sticky like when you would accidentally touch a surface you spilled lemonade, that you forgot to clear up, on. It was a whole new different type of sticky. It was his skin. It was the locker that got glued to him, not the other way around. It didn’t seem physically possible, but somehow it was happening to him, right now. His skin had turned into velcro.

“Anyway” (Y/N) had been giving him a strange look. Peter looked up from his hands, realizing he was staring a bit too long at them. She mumbled: “I’m glad you’re feeling better.” 

“Uhm yeah. Thanks. The cookies helped.” Crinkles formed at the corners of her eyes. With her hand, she pushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“Oh good,” she paused, “if you liked the cookies I might have something else for you.” Sticking her hand into her jacket she pulled out a little box, having to contort it slightly so it would slip out smoothly. “I was experimenting with candy making and out of it came chocolate-strawberry peppermints. Do you guys wanna try?” Her smile was bright, filled with excitement. She held out the box for them suggestively.

“Yeah. sure.” Ned said. (Y/N) opened the box for them to take one. Ned took one first, popping it into his mouth and swirling it around before breaking out into a big grin.  
“Mmm, these are great.” The peppermint pressed flat to the roof of his mouth to stop it falling out but subsequently distorting his words. (Y/N) still took it as praise. Peter took one too. He put the candy in his mouth, but not even a second after it had touched his tongue, he spit it out into his hand. That was the most disgusting thing he had ever tasted. The smile dropped from (Y/N)’s face.

“Oh, you don’t like it?” (Y/N) put the lid of the box on again. Her expression flitting between sadness and disappointment.

“Uh..” he couldn’t think of what to say. He thought he would like it. He hoped he would, because from what he knew, (Y/N) was an amazing baker.

(Y/N) shrugged. “It’s okay. Not for everyone, I guess.” she turned to Ned, who was still enjoying his candy, “you liked it, right?”

Ned’s eyes lit up. “Yes. Could I have another one?” (Y/N) giggled a bit at his enthusiasm.

“Of course, take as many as you want.” She beamed with excitement that _someone_ liked what she had made. Peter felt even worse, he wanted to be the one to make her smile like that. Ned waited for her to open the box again. Peter in the meantime, just stood to the side, trying to make himself invisible to them.

Beaming from ear to ear, Ned scooped out a handful of candies, soon realizing he didn’t have anywhere to put them. He turned to Peter.

“You sure you don’t want any?” Ned brought his candy-filled hand up to Peter’s face, who turned his nose up at them, a ghostly glow taking over his cheeks. He didn’t know what it was about them, but it just made his stomach churn, saliva collecting in his mouth as he felt the bile make its way up his throat. He had to hold in the gag. From the corner of his eye, he saw (Y/N)’s frame make itself smaller. Her smile turned upside down as she was looking between the candy in Ned’s hands and Peter. The sight of her and the fact that it was him making her feel so bad, made the sick feeling in Peter’s stomach even worse.

“Well, I have to go.” (Y/N) took a few steps backward before spinning around quickly and headed off down the corridor. Peter watched her disappear into the crowd of teenagers, only drawn back to reality by a firm slap to the back of his head. His hand flew to the occipital region of his head. A small “ouch” escaping his mouth as he rubbed the spot.

“What is the matter with you?” Ned inquired. He looked angry, disappointed and confused.

“I don’t know.” Peter defended himself in the worst way possible. The only way he knew how. “I just- I just can’t stand them,” he said gesturing to the candy in Ned’ palm. Hearing his words spoken out loud, Peter figured that was a bit too harsh. He was glad that (Y/N) had left already because this would have made things only worse.

His statement also surprised his friend. “I thought you loved peppermint,” Ned said as he popped another one into his mouth. Peter looked at Ned and sighed. The thought of (Y/N) and how devastated she looked when he spit it out burned in his memory. But he couldn’t ignore that strong smell of the mint which scorched his nostrils every time he took a breath.

“I thought so too.” He was frustrated. What the hell was wrong with him? A girl he _liked_ offered him some candy that _she_ actually made and he goes and spits it out. It was disgusting to him but he could have at least pretended to like it, at least until she was gone. His hand came down, perhaps slightly too hard on his locker as he silently cursed his behavior. It wasn’t meant to be that hard, he hadn’t thought it had been but the bang that echoed around the hallway suggested otherwise. People looked in his direction, heads cocked and brows raised.. Peter winced as he laid his eyes on the locker, where his hand had been was a dent. A massive, unexplainable dent.

Peter grazed his fingers over the dent, not believing it was actually real. How could he have possibly done that?

“Wow,” Ned gasped, as his eyes now fell on the dent too. Peter didn’t know what to do, the only thing he did know, was that what was happening to him was not normal. _But what was happening to him?_

________________________________________

\- The same day, a few hours later. -

The news of what Peter did spread around the whole class. People were giving him strange looks throughout the whole day. And now it was time for the worst time of the week: Gym Class. Also known to go by Phys Ed when the teachers tried to make it sound like a real subject - Physical Education, _The education of physical._ After all these years, he still couldn’t understand why this class was so important and essential for everyone to take. They didn’t learn anything. It was just an excuse for the jocks to beat up, well, anyone else.

“Okay,” coach Wilson yelled out to the class, who had been sitting on the bleachers for the last ten minutes. “I want ten laps. Go. Go. Go!” Everyone groaned in unison.

It was one of those moments of unity that bonded everyone. Peter thought sometimes that maybe if everyone’s hate for the class was the same, the world could be a better place.

Everyone clambered off the benches and started on their laps. Peter liked remaining in the middle of the pack, that way there was minimal attention on him. He tended to think any attention was bad attention, whether that was actually true or not. Especially in PE. You don’t want to stick out, only blend in. That is why the sick note that Aunt May had given him for the class, stayed in his backpack. He didn’t have the need to go over to coach Wilson and tell him that he was “too sick” to run laps, even though, he wasn’t sick anymore. The prospect of explaining his whole near-death week to the coach didn’t appeal to him so he left the note where it was.

“Woah, you can stop now.” Fingers curled around Peter’s biceps, pulling him towards them. The whole class stood staring at him, waiting with bated breath. Coach Wilson towered above him, his hand still clutching Peter. His expression was different, not it’s usual passive and flat, no now, as he stared down at little Peter his eyes grew wide, as the whistle was teetering between his lips. Peter started to panic. Had he been going that slow? Was Coach Wilson finally relieving him from this misery?

“Boy, where did you learn to run like that?” Okay, not the question he expected, but at least he wasn’t in trouble. He didn’t think.

“Huh? I mean, excuse me?”

“Since when are those chicken legs of yours so fast?” Wilson asked. He was looking at Peter in awe. “And not a sweat…are you even tired?’

“Uhm…” he had to think. His legs weren’t shaking, his breathing was stable. His mouth wasn’t dry. For a change, he didn’t feel like he wanted to die. “No… but I’ve only run like-”

“Twelve laps,” Wilson said, still in slight shock.

“What?” He didn’t even realize he had passed the rest of his class. How could he have run two laps more than them? How did he even manage to run twelve laps without passing out?

“I had to stop you, the rest was getting tired just looking at you.” The coach looked over at the rest of the class. “What are you all looking at? Run those laps. Go!” He blew his whistle, making Peter’s ears almost bleed. Peter wanted to join them, but he was stopped again.

“Where do you think you’re going, Parker? Haven’t had enough yet?”

“What? I thought you want us to do it again,” he stated. Coach Wilson raised an eyebrow in surprise.

“Again? Boy, most of them haven’t even finished their sixth lap yet. Just, go sit next to Jones.” He pointed at the bleachers, where Michelle was reading a book bigger than the dictionary. The school had given up ages ago to make her join the PE classes.

“They all hate you, you know?” she said when he sat down next to her, not even looking up from her book.

“Yeah.” He knew. The looks he received from everyone when they passed his spot on the bleachers said more than enough. If looks could kill, he would have been dead with the snap of a finger.

________________________________________

Weeks had gone by and Peter had his body less and less under control. He got stuck to more things, He couldn’t pick up anything without losing balance, thrown off by their heavy appearance. A lot of his old shirts didn’t fit anymore, not sure why because people had been telling him that he actually looked skinnier. Which was true, he had lost weight. Even uncle Ben commented on it one night.

“Hey, buddy.” he sat down on the couch next to him. Peter was on his phone but put it away. That _hey, buddy_ was not the start of a casual conversation. “How are you doing?”

“Good,” he said, unsure of where this was going.

“Yeah? School good? Friends? Head?”

“What?” he really had no clue anymore where his uncle tried to take this.

“It’s just that your aunt and I, we have noticed, you look different.”

“I’m fine, honestly.”

“Okay, but if you ever don’t feel fine. Maybe insecure about something, or I don’t know, you can come to me. I know that puberty is a hard time. Your body’s changing and people around you behave moronically. It can do damage to a kid’s head. I would know.”

“I said, I’m good,” Peter chuckled.

“You’re a bright kid, Pete. I hope you are smart enough to know to not listen to what others say.”

“I do,” he replied.

“Good. I knew you did, but now your aunt will at least lay off me,” they both snickered, “well, I’ll leave you now. Who are you texting? (Y/N)?”

“If I say yes, will you leave me alone?” Peter laughed, but the mention of (Y/N) was a bit saddening. They hadn’t spoken anymore since the incident of the peppermints. At first, it was him who ignored her. He was too ashamed of what he did to her. But then he realized that ignoring her may not have been the solution, because she started doing the same to him.

“Sorry, sorry. I’ll go cook now.” With that, he left, leaving Peter to his own devices. Peter returned to his phone. The search results for _spider bite_ appeared. He heaved at the images - why did he click on that anyway? 

He had been collecting research on it for the last few days. The spider must have been what caused all of it. It was the bite that made him sick and after he had gotten sick, all those extra changes to his body had been happening. At school, he had been doing some tests, when no one was looking, at trying to see how far he could go. He started out small and gradually raised the bar for himself. So far, he had managed to lift up a whole row of lockers. Just like that. Like they were lighter than a feather. This couldn’t be humanly possible, yet somehow, he did it!

There was more aside from the sudden super-human strength. His reflexes were off the charts. PE had never been easier for him than now. He could run faster than the fastest kid. He could throw further than the best. Gymnastics and rope climbing were no problem anymore.

All these athletic changes had definitely caught the attention of a few people, especially coach Wilson, so after a few test runs on his new skills, Peter tried to hold it back a little. Soon people forgot (as always) all about him.

So he was strong, fast, not to forget he could crawl on walls - which he had tried one afternoon in an abandoned alley. That day he had been sticking to pretty much anything he touched, so he thought, - why not try. It took him a few tries, most of them had ended with him falling on his ass but finally, he had kicked off the ground and survived the climb up half the building. Then he fell into a dumpster. The excitement of his success had caused him to celebrate a bit too much, releasing both his arms from the sticky grip onto the wall and, thus, falling.

The conclusion he drew was more than insane but made sense at the same time. The spider which bit him clearly came from Oscorp Lab. That much radiation on such a small organism can give some strange effects, so it most likely was radioactive itself. And those chemicals were now inside of Peter. All that Vita Radiation was flowing through him. But for how long? Would he be climbing walls one day and then suddenly plummet to his death because his expiration date had come? Although, maybe that day would never come. He thought of Captain America. 70 years later and he was still a chunk of beefcake. However, he had been frozen for those seventy years. Maybe that did something too. Peter had only one option, just wait and see. It wasn’t the most glamorous plan, he realized but it was all he had. 

Besides, he couldn’t be a superhero. No, out of the question. That was just sad. Too pathetic to think about. At best, he could become some weird Youtuber that did stunts in which everyone believed to be CGI. Actually, that didn’t sound too bad. He could do that. His skills behind the computer weren’t too shabby. He still had a camera lying around somewhere. With a grin on his face, Peter got up and walked to his room. He sat behind his desk and pulled up an empty notebook in front of his face.

If he would do this there is no way that he would show his face. People already looked at him as a freak. There was no need to enhance that. He needed a mask - a whole outfit, preferably. His skills behind the sewing machine were definitely not at the same level as those behind the computer, so he had to keep it simple. The easiest would be to repurpose some old clothes. Something that not a lot of people saw him in already. But at the same time, he had to look good in it, didn’t he? The whole world would be able to see these. ( _Oh, I can’t believe I’m actually doing this. Why am I doing this?_ ) There was no proper answer to that question.

He had been sitting at his desk for forever, it seemed. It wasn’t very comfortable though. All this time he had been sitting on something. He got up to pull the thing he was sitting on from underneath him. It was his red hoodie. Without thinking, he chucked it into a corner of the room, but looking at the blank page of the notebook, he went to pick it up again.

He never wore it, anyway. With those blue sweatpants… and he had a matching sweatshirt with those. If he exchanged the sleeves - or maybe just pulled the sleeves of the hoodie and put it over like a camisole… yeah, that could work. He chucked the hoodie back into its previous position and started doodling in his notebook. There were other things he needed, but some dumpster diving or a proper good-will search could sort that out. All through the process of designing, he was grinning widely. (Y/N)’s words were echoing through his mind as he erased a few lines.

________________________________________

It could have looked worse. Much worse. At least no one would recognize him. Poor Captain America, he had a horrible outfit and everyone knew who he was. Yeah, Peter was much better off.

He took the goggled mask off his face. The change in vision startled him. He couldn’t believe how well those goggles actually worked. He had managed to cover them in such a way that all the light wasn’t over-stimulating his eyes. The science behind it wasn’t exactly clear to him, but it worked so that was all that mattered, to be honest.

He had also found some good boots and red fingerless gloves. The gloves came in practical for if he wanted to climb walls in his videos. Peter wasn’t entirely sure if the weird adhesive on his hands would work through the material. The boots were just for the look. Even though they really weren’t, Peter thought they looked kind of cool.

It was Saturday morning. He had done most of his homework the night before. Now he had the time to start on his videos. He had no real concept of what to do. He had no name for himself, no ideas, nothing. He decided to just film something and then swing with the rest. Maybe he could jump around on some roofs. Do a few backflips… he had gotten pretty good at those. Only a few resulted in a faceplant so far. _So, parkour videos? Huh_ , he thought, _why not?_

He leaned out of his window, checking if there was anybody there to see him climb out. The street was deserted. Before pulling his mask over his face again, Peter checked if his door was locked. It was and the sound of the tv in the living room was pretty loud too. Hopefully, he had enough time to try some stuff out and get back before his aunt or uncle would barge into his room.

Taking a deep breath, he pulled the mask over his face. The goggles making everything a bit darker, so like the world was actually supposed to look like. He shook the nerves out of his body and put one leg through the open window. He had never tried climbing down a wall without crawling it up as well. Maybe trying it for the first time on the sixth floor wasn’t the smartest idea. He did it anyway. Not thinking about it too much, he pushed himself outside completely. He was now sitting on the windowsill. Another deep breath, muffled by the mask, and he jumped forward, still holding on to the windowsill. He let go with one arm so he could turn around. Kicking his legs in front so he wouldn’t smash his face into the brick wall. Very slowly, he lowered his feet and then his hands and just like that he managed to get down to the ground.

Excited that he did it, he fist-pumped enthusiastically a few times. He wanted to pull out his phone from his pocket and then realized something. The whole moment happened in slow motion. He looked up at his window as he remembered: he left his phone on his bed… And his camera was also lying on his desk. He had nothing to record with.

“Shit.” He kicked the curb out of frustration. Frustrated, he looked up. Should he really go up there again? Was it worth it? Would he actually film anything anyway? Probably not. He probably would have dropped the camera off a roof somehow. It was for the better. Now he could roam around the city freely, do whatever he wanted. Just try some things out. Hopefully not die. That was a good plan for now. Do stuff, don’t die in the process.

Peter looked around, the goggles made the street bearable for his eyes. It was empty, which for a street in mid-Queens, was a bit peculiar, he had to admit. Especially on a Saturday. He thought about where to go. Left or right? Even better question: stay on the ground or go up? It was no battle between the latter decision. He ran to the end of the block and then started climbing carefully. His nerves under control, including his excitement. Everything was going fine. He could do this. Before he knew it, he was already on the roof of the building. How nobody had seen him, was a mystery. Then again, there was nobody there to see him. What was up with that?

If it was a problem, it wasn’t his. He couldn’t do anything about it. Jumping and climbing weren’t superpowers. He couldn’t save anyone with that. How far could he jump? Now, that was a question he was more than willing to answer. He did a few jumping jacks to warm up, before squatting and jumping up as high as he could… which turned out to be very high.

“Wooooh,” he yelled out in pure ecstasy. This was the best feeling ever. Unfortunately, the feeling died down when he started to fall again. His feet touched the ground again. Peter wondered. That must have been at least nine… ten feet. Not to mention that he had also jumped in width, not only height. In only one jump he had managed to get to the other side of the roof.

He looked down the other side of the street. Could he make it that far? His brain immediately went into mathematical overdrive. If he had some type of jump start, he could make it. If he did fall, however… cats have nine lives, what about spiders? The bigger trick of it all was to just not think about it too much. Before making the actual winner shot, he did a few smaller jumps. Trying to, not only, get as high as he could but also as far as he could now. This could actually work. Yes, he believed in himself. From all the way at the back of the building, he started running. His feet were moving faster and faster. Only a few more feet of the edge. He was going so quickly now, that there was no stopping anymore. It was, do or die. Or in his case, do or do and die. This was going to be the end for him.

With a small scream, he jumped over the edge. He was in mid-air, moving across the street, practically flying. He closed his eyes, too scared to look if he was doing it. He quickly realized closing his eyes was not the brightest idea. He had reached the other side of the street with no problem. Before he knew it, there was already solid ground underneath him. He was getting lower and lower. Of course, he didn’t see this because he had his eyes closed, so when the moment of touchdown came, Peter almost broke his foot as he rolled around on the cement. He groaned in pain. This was probably the most epic thing he had ever done… and he ruined it be being an idiot. He couldn’t believe it. Well, he could, but at the same time, it was so surreal. He actually jumped across a whole street. From one roof to the other. In celebration, he kicked his feet off the ground and did a backflip, which turned back to a frontflip. Could he do a handstand? What a better time to try out than now? Oh, who would have thought, he _could_ do a handstand. What a time to be alive. _Wow_.

The next hour or so, Peter just spend running around the rooftops. When he felt stares on him, he would do some trick and yell out, “it’s for Youtube!” This mostly did it. People didn’t seem too bothered by an insane guy running around in a red and blue onesie, with a giant spider on his chest. (He had added the emblem with a permanent marker. He hoped it looked cool.

After a while, he started to feel a bit tired. Mostly in his head. All those flips and somersaults were making him dizzy, but he did manage to fall back on his feet every time. No problem. Now though, it was time for him to take a break. He may suddenly have the stamina of a super soldier, but even those needed a pause sometimes.

He sat down on top of a fire escape. It was a nice view on the street. Peter had finally figured out why there was nobody out before, it was simply too early. Not even noon on a Saturday? People were still asleep or only eating breakfast. Only dog walkers and joggers were out and about at that time, and Peter apparently.

He sat, his legs wiggling in the air. Cars driving under him. People talking on their phone not interacting with each other. It seemed to be all a pretty basic day. Not much happening.

Then, he felt it again. That strange feeling under his skin. That sixth sense. The opposite of the sixth sense, Peter had decided. He didn’t see dead people like in that really old movie. His sixth sense was quite the opposite. His saw only things that had to do with real, alive people. This time, the sense was pulling him down mentally. It gave him the urge to look down, at the street. Someone was crossing it, a girl, he thought. She was on her phone and didn’t see anything in front of her. From the end of the street, Peter saw that there was a car speeding up. He yelled out to the girl, “hey! Look out!” But of course, she didn’t hear him.

He sighed. There was no way, he could just sit there and watch the inevitable accident. He got up and faster than he thought was possible for a human being, climbed down the fire escape. When he made it to the second or third floor, he decided it would be quicker to just jump off of it. The girl was now two steps off of the pavement on her side of the street. Her eyes still on the screen in front of her. Peter was standing right opposite of her. She continued on walking and the car kept on coming. If he yelled out now, she would get startled and just stand there probably, ready for the car to take her. So, Peter did the only other reasonable thing he could think of. He jumped in front of her. Between the girl and the car. She gasped at his closeness. The car was at such a high speed, that it could only break in time. Peter had the idea that if he hadn’t jumped in, this very well may have been a hit-and-run.

“What the-” he recognized that voice. He looked down at the girl he was holding. When did he grab her?

“(Y/N),” he whispered. Hopefully not too loud so she wouldn’t hear it. He looked at her while she responded with a wide-eyed expression. The car honked loudly, disrupting that little moment.

“Let’s get you away from here, huh?” Peter tried to make his voice as low as he could. She had seen him in these clothes. She could possibly make the connection. He didn’t need that embarrassment right now. Neither did she. To get saved by a weirdo in sweats and a giant spider on his chest? Not ideal. She just nodded at his proposal. Still holding onto her, he pulled (Y/N) off the street. Her movements very stiff. When he glanced down at her, he saw her eyes move back every so often to the place where the car had stood, Even though it had already driven away and was long gone.

“You okay miss?” Peter asked once they made the other side. She nodded, her eyes wide from the shock. Peter admired her looks from nearby. Her, basically, trademarked sweater was exchanged for a crop-top and a flannel around it. Her hair was in a messy bun. But not one of those messy buns that girls say are messy while in fact, they had been working on it for half an hour. This one was, in fact, messy, in the most charming way possible.

“Uhm, thank you,” she stammered out, “you saved my life out there I suppose.”

“Heh, I guess so.” Peter scratched his neck. He didn’t feel his neck, he felt the material of his hoodie. He had completely forgotten what he looked like.

“Are you like a superhero or something?” she asked. This caught him off guard. He was no hero. Just an idiot trying to figure out his life.

“No.” He laughed under his breath.

“Well, so what are? Some kind of spider-man?” She was looking at the spider on his chest. _Spider-Man._ He liked the sound of that.

“Yeah, I guess so.” He noticed that he didn’t lower his voice. He had to cough to make up for it. “Y-yeah.”

“Hmm, if Spider-Man can do what a spider can, where are his webs?” she giggled.

“Huh? Webs? I don’t have those.”

“Oh, pity. Could be handy for catching bad guys.”

“I don’t catch bad guys. I’m not a superhero.” His cheeks were heating up underneath his mask.

“Well, you are mine,” she smiled. Peter smiled back, which was stupid, he realized, because she couldn’t see it anyway. Thanking him one last time, she started to walk away from him, backward. “Not everything can be left to the Avengers. Someone has to look out for the little guy.” She smirked and turned around. Peter watched her walk, a little groove in her step as she turned the corner.

Look out for the little guy? He could do that. But first, he needed some webs.

## The End


End file.
